


scars.

by jotunhell



Category: Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Angst, Blood, Mild Gore, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 22:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16921677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jotunhell/pseuds/jotunhell
Summary: Perhaps his mischievous ways were finally catching up to him.





	scars.

Why do things always go too far?  
  
Circumstances never did go his way, this much he knew, but this was beyond what his resilience could handle.  
  
It was a  _joke_. Cutting Sif's hair was a joke. It's what he does. But he fixed it, didn't he? Even brought along treasures, crafted by the best dwarves, just to fill the other gods' large egos. Lady Sif's beautiful hair was flowing and shining once more, as if his sweet knife never touched her scalp, and Thor got his mighty hammer. Surely that would be enough for them to leave Loki be.  
  
Brokk, the dwarf that crafted Mjolnir, really had it out for him. He wanted his head so he could perform his gruel experiments on it, explore all that cunningness in there. Loki, of course, preferred his head on his shoulders so he did everything he could to keep it that way.  
  
Perhaps his mischievous ways were finally catching up to him.  
  
"You have won fairly, dwarf." He said. "And of course, of course you are welcome to cut my head but if you cut off any of my neck, you will be violating our very agreement. I only promised you my head, nothing else."  
  
He didn't even bat an eye. Having faced death so many times before was starting to lose its appeal.  
  
Curiosity turned to dread and dread to rage as Brokk and Odin discussed new terms in front of him, their hushed whispers haunting.   
  
"That would be fair."  
  
"What?" His cool composure left him, agitation starting to rattle his voice. "What is it?"  
  
His knees met dusty ground, the impact bruising him for sure. Loki tried to move but to no avail. Magic has bound him there. Brokk neared him with an awl, sharp and thin, much like Loki's smile.  
  
Eyes, bright, green and bewildered, met Brokk's swollen ones, fear crawling on to his skin. **No.**  
  
Fine thread dangled on the tool and Loki swallowed back his last scream when he felt the needle punch a hole through the corner of his lips. It was long and arduous, just kneeling there and letting the thread and needle go through his lips. Blood dripped and stained his clothes, the remnants of his words.  
  
When Brokk was finished, the magic lifted itself up and Loki wrenched away from where he knelt. He wanted to scream but his rage was locked behind sewn lips.  
  
Green eyes bright with fury bore down on the watching gods and with his bloodied mouth, Loki has never looked so deranged. It was Thor who yanked him away, shoving him down the great hall before Loki could do anything he'd regret.  
  
That night when only the stars were watching and the blood on his lips had dried, Loki grieved. For him, the pain of being unable to talk is far greater than the pain of having his lips stitched together.

 


End file.
